Part 2: origin of the puppers

If you missed part one, you may want to read that first with a generous pour of wine.

So we arrived at the pound and had absolutely no idea or plans on what we were taking home that day. I knew damn well that I wanted a kitten and he did not, but he couldn’t say no to me that day.

I won’t speak for us both, but I felt like we were unfit parents. Something like we didn’t deserve to care for another innocent life, so at that very moment I decided we would go home with the saddest, most un-adoptable dog in there.

We had the fence, and the great local vet, and the home with loving arms. I needed to find someone to make it up to Ragnar.

They told us this hound boy was dumped at Percy Priest Lake- our new favorite location for boating and summer shenanigans. We decided to pay tribute to his tougher days and named him Percy.

Percy cried nonstop for weeks after we brought him home. We cuddled him, we over-fed him, we left him alone, we babied him, we shushed him, we cuddled him some more, we tried everything and he still cried. We lovingly decided that was his song. I’m not sure if you’ve ever heard a hound sing, but our boy has some pipes. We asked the vet, she laughed, we loved some more and it didn’t ever matter what happened, he cried. We have accepted him as our singing boy.. our singing boy that definitely has a strong preference for boy-dogs. To each their own.

I should probably back up and mention that while we are signing the adoption paperwork for Percy and Steven Tyler, the orange kitten, we had brought along our live-in roommate. While we were physically signing, a sweet couple walked in to surrender a puppy that they had found in a park by their house. It was instant love for our roomie, and the sweet couple agreed to pass the little nug off to her instead of the scary dog-prison, ahem, shelter.

In the end, the three of us went home with Simba, the over-sized and undocumented puppy, Percy, the terrified, skeleton hound, and Steve, the orange ball of fluff. Kika was not amused, to say the least.

But wait, there’s more! Over the next few weeks, we kept getting random doggo visitors breaking in to our yard (clearly fences are super effective.) We first received regular visits from Jasmine, a runaway shepherd that liked to come play with our crew. Then a random assortment of cats. Eventually, a fluffy little black and white boy stopped by. My husband knew he had to go before I got home because he was too damned cute to give up. Turns out we had trouble with the logistical “go” part, but that’s a story for another day. Long-story short version is that we ended up keeping fluffy boy, or at least trying to.

Fluffy has one blue eye and one brown eye to match his charming personality. The first few nights we fed him, he’d leave and then come back. He’d disappear for a few hours or a few days at a time. We showed him how to use the dog door and after a few weeks of his transient lifestyle, we decided we liked him so we took him to the vet for shots, neuter, a check-up, and bought him a collar and tags in hopes he’d stick around. He definitely did not (understandably so, since we did let the vet take his huevos.)

Once he had a collar, we received multiple calls from our neighbors far and wide saying they found our friendly dog and he was waiting on their porch/ cuddling their 8-year old daughter/ playing with their dog/ insert social activity here. He’s the friendly neighborhood hobo and he eventually chose us.

Add in our sassy shepherd, Kika, and that brought us to the grand total of four dogs and Steve, the cat. For the record, this team generates WAY more hair than should ever be in one household. It looks like I’ve never cleaned more floors, ever.. every day. While we’re on the record, I’d like to note this misfit bunch drives me crazy and makes me laugh every damn day too.